The Bigger Picture
by Cantique
Summary: The Lone Wanderer and the Courier cross paths, but before they know it, they wind up uncovering each other's secrets - a lot of which are buried in the wastes. Post FO:NV, F!LW/Butch, F!Courier/Benny and some implied F!Courier/Boone. Re-post and re-write of an old story from my old account that wound up not getting past one lame chapter.
1. Jaw

Connie had seen her fair share of shit in her life. She'd seen people maimed, children's bodies, entire units massacred.

But nothing made her as uncomfortable as being in this cocktail lounge.

The majority of those habituating it were something else; well dressed, groomed, head held high in an air of perhaps undeserving dignity. Connie, on the other hand, was standing in the doorway next to the somewhat overly friendly Securitron, covered in dirt, in torn and dirty clothes and with a rather bad wound in her arm from where they'd had to dig out a Radscorpion sting - while Butch stood there gawking at the fact the cocktail lounge seemed to be rotating.

"Jaw, Butch." She whispered, the first of many eyes settling on the as the Securitron led them through the lounge.

"Connie, it's _movin'. _Cut me some slack, girl."

She didn't respond, instead following the Securitron and trying to figure out which one of these people was the one who summoned her here, although this was proving to be a difficult task seeing as she had little to go on. Eventually they were led to a small, roped-off area, guarded by a man in a red beret who was staring very menacingly at the two. This area was the cleanest and most polished of the cocktail lounge, with a few small tables surrounded a large, semi-circle booth.

"I've brought the two visitors, just like you asked, Ma'am." The Securitron announced to a woman sitting in the center of the booth. A half smile appeared on her painted lips as she dismissed him.

"Thankyou, Yes Man. That's all for now. Go make sure the rest of our guests are taken care of." She ordered, her tone polite yet firm. She looked up at the two from her book, smiling and gesturing to two seats that had been placed in front of the booth, presumably for them. "Please, sit. Can I offer you a drink?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know, this seems a bit... pricey." Connie quietly stuttered much to Butch's apparent dismay as they took their seats. The woman chuckled.

"Nonsense," the woman assured her, dismissively waving her hand. "On the house, anything you like. I wouldn't invite you here for business and expect you to pay for drinks. You're my guests."

Connie's eyes flicked straight to Butch, who wasn't even going to wait for her approval, as usual. "Give me anything with Scotch. Hell, just give me some Scotch." The woman turned her eyes to Connie now.

"Uh, just some water, thank you. I'm not feeling 100%."

The woman turned to a nearby Securitron, making the order and watching it as it rolled off to the nearest bar, pushing past other patrons. She turned back to the two, smiling a smile that seemed practiced but still felt genuine and calm in it's delivery. "I trust the Securitrons at the Freeside Gate didn't give you too much trouble."

Connie perked an eyebrow. "Not at all. Although we did see one of them shoot someone trying to get in."

"Hm." The woman sighed. "A shame, but necessary. In order to keep the Strip the haven it is, we have... certain policies on entry."

"Like a credit check." Connie crossed her arms.

"No more so than your average strip club, I assure you. The visitors of the Strip feel safe enough to walk around unarmed, and I plan to keep it this way." The woman looked down to the table, taking a pack of cigarettes in her hand and removing one, moving to offer one to Connie before noticing she was about to light her own. "Now," she began, lifting her cigarette to her mouth and lighting it, giving a long exhale. "I suppose we should get down to business, then."

"Yes. Let's." Connie's patience was wearing thin, which probably had something to do with the temperature she was running.

The woman watched as a waitress brought them a full bottle of scotch, which Butch almost leaped on, and a jug of ice water. "Your exploits, the tales of the Lone Wanderer, are things of legend around here. I hear so much about DC..."

"I hear a lot about you, too." Connie interrupted.

"Is that so?" The woman's eyebrow lifted, a small smile on the corners of her mouth.

"They call you the Courier, yeah?" Connie asked. "Slaughtered the Legion, killed Mr House and then made New Vegas your own, She leaned back and gave a slight nod. "Not bad for someone who was shot in the head."

She gave a genuine smile now, a small laugh following. "Thank you, I do try. I was unaware they spoke of me in DC."

"Could say the same about myself."

"Two years is a very long time for news of a lone girl from the Vault defeating the NCR and saving Project Purity to travel," the woman paused, smoke ribboning from the end of her cigarette towards the ceiling.

Connie eyed her suspiciously. "Project Purity?"

"Yes. How's that... working out right now?"

Connie relaxed a little in her seat. "Fine. We're still not running at optimum power, and clean water is still being distributed by the Brotherhood, but we're doing what we can with what he have."

"How would you _like_ to run at optimum?"

Connie's eyes thinned in curiosity. "What are you offering, Courier?"

"Call me Joan," She began, flicking some cigarette ash into her ash tray. "I'm offering you a chance to... form a beneficial alliance, if you will. You'll be welcome to our tech and support in exchange for some permissions."

"What _kind_ of permissions?" Connie asked, her tone suspicious.

"I want to send my people in there," Joan spoke plainly, "there's a lot of business opportunities in DC, lots of Vaults that can be cleared out, turned into housing or even casinos."

"So you want to expand your empire?"

"I wouldn't call it an _empire…"_ she replied, pausing to muse over this 'empire' idea, the smile at the corners of her mouth suggesting she didn't exactly hate the concept, "but I am looking to expand horizons, yes. Connie, my dear, I'm simply trying to help you out. Think of how many people's lives would improve from the jobs my business would create. Think of how many more would have access to free water. Think of what I could _do_ with a Vault. You grew up in one, did you not?"

Connie butted out her cigarette and reached for some water. "You've got Vaults here."

"Nowhere near as well preserved as your own. It would take us years to purge some of ours out, yours? We could have them refitted and in working order again by then. All I'm asking for is some wiggle room. Help us clean up DC and we'll help you clean up the water."

"Look," Connie took a sip from her glass, wiping her brow. "We've got the best damned minds in DC and, as far as I'm concerned, the country, working on Project Purity. What can you possibly offer us that we can't do ourselves?"

"Hoover Dam." She bluntly replied, a smirk on her face. "There's technology in there that I _know_ can help Project Purity, but you don't have access to it."

"Then I'll get it myself."

"You won't have access." Joan's words came out with a force so blunt and icey that it took Connie by complete surprise, enough to make her mentally recall where she'd stowed her knife, just in case this was all a setup. As quickly as she'd snipped at them, Joan straightened herself back up, her smile returning. "Not to sound as though I'm making a threat, but the NCR would shoot you down before you even reached the perimeter. In case you hadn't heard, they only just narrowly saved it from the Legion, and they're not about to take any chances, especially from someone who single handedly destroyed an Enclave base. I, however, _can_ grant you not only access, but a full research team if you want. Hell, I'll even provide safe transport for your _own_ if you so desire."

Connie was silent for a few moments, feeling Butch's gaze on her. "...And all you want in return is to occupy part of DC?"

"Occupy?" Joan laughed once more, twisting out her cigarette in the ash tray. "Connie, I'm not the enemy. I'm not going to invade your land, rape your people and enslave 101." Joan watched as the mention of the Vault made Connie breath in sharply. "All I want is business. Simple as that. Worse comes to worse, my ventures fail, we run out of caps and we leave quietly. Besides, I don't think you understand, having a set of my eyes and ears will only serve to benefit your people. Should the Enclave try to rear it's ugly little head again, you'll have a small army of my associates backing you. And trust me," Joan wiggled in her seat a little in a way that made Connie extremely jealous. "We have a _lot_ of firepower behind us."

Connie sat silently for a few moments, trying to think this over and ignore the cold sweat on her brow. She swallowed deeply and took a long, deep breath, before giving a shudder.

"Connie." Butch's voice whispered to her, his hand on her shoulder. "Babe, you ain't lookin' too flash. You alright?" Connie didn't respond, but instead shook her head. Butch looked up from her to Joan, who was frowning in concern.

"Am I right with assuming this has to do with your friend's wound? I did notice it was looking a tad... discoloured."

"Connie got stung by one of them Radscorpions you got out here, they ain't like the ones we got in DC." Butch explained, brushing some hair back from her face and not taking his eyes off her. "We got the sting out and all, but she ain't been feelin' right since she got here."

"Probably an infection." Joan raised her hand and clicked her fingers. "Benny?" She called, looking around, but glancing back to check on the two. Within a few moments, a man appeared at the table, well dressed but not blended in. "Benny, help these two to the spare room in the Presidential Suite, I'm going to find Arcade."

The next hour or two was fuzzy for Connie. Benny and Butch helped carry her to the elevator, a blond Dr came and saw to her wounds. Connie began to drift in and out of consciousness.

"You sure she's gonna be okay?"

"She should be fine. I've given her some antibiotics and put her on a drip, which is all I can really do. She's stable, though."

"I'm sure she'll pull through." A female voice spoke. "She's seen worse than an infection, I'm sure. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. Should you need anything, I'm leaving you in Benny's capable hands."

Another voice interjected. "Hey! Pussycat, I got my own joint to run, remember?"

"Not right now you don't. Let Swank take care of it."

"But-"

"Benny!" There was a short silence, before she continued. "I have business to attend to, if Benny doesn't fill out his end of the bargain, uh..."

"Butch."

"...Butch. If he doesn't fill out his end of the bargain, my Securitrons will help you find me. Keep me updated."

The door closed and Connie drifted off again.


	2. Best Girl

Her eyes pried themselves open and she squinted as she gazed around the room. It was dim, but she could still make out the ceiling fan as it hummed and clicked above her. She rolled her head to the side and looked at her arms. The top was bandaged up and an IV had been placed in the other, causing her to give a groan.

"Well, ring-a-ding-ding, baby. Look who's finally back in the land of the living."

"Huh?" Connie squeezed her eyes together in an attempt to get them to focus, setting her eyes on Benny at the other end of the room. "How long was I out?"

"Couple days. Took a bad turn for a while there, had to drag your little buddy out of here."

"Butch," she groaned, realizing he wasn't there. "Where's Butch?"

Benny chuckled and moved from his seat in the corner to the one next to her bed. "Probably in the bar. Like I said, baby, we had to forcibly remove him. The Quack wanted to cut the junk out of your arm there and we couldn't have him in here."

"But he's here?"

"Not in this room, but he's around. He's alright, if he wasn't so whipped by a broad, he might be cool enough to be Chairmen material."

"He's not whipped." Connie snapped, trying to pull herself up, her arms feeling like jelly.

"Hey, hey, hey, c'mon," Benny reached forward and behind her, rearranging the cushions and pillows before helping her sit up in the bed. "Easy now."

"...Thanks." Connie eyed him. While Joan had been clean, he was _cleaner._ Well-groomed, smelled like expensive cologne you'd only find in a vault... Connie was way in over her head here. She was in another world. "What's a Chairmen?"

"The Chairmen? Baby, the Chairmen are only the coolest, swingin', with it family in The Strip. ...Actually, we're the only family in the Strip nowadays, ever since Joan decided we should run things."

"I have no idea what that even means."

Benny chuckled. "Baby, you're a long way from home, aren't you? Joan said something 'bout you being one of those Vault broads."

"Joan would be right. ...So... who exactly _is_ Joan, anyway?"

She watched Benny's expression change as he put his arms behind his head and leaned back into his chair. "Joan... Joan's a pretty classy act. She wasn't always that way, though. First time I met her she was just some sooty broad with a valuable package and sunburn. But then we got to know each other a bit better, you know? Took some work on my part but that cat walks into a room now and BAM she knocks the wind right out of you!"

"So... what's her story, then? How'd you even meet someone like that?"

Benny suddenly went a little rigid and shifted a bit. "That's a question better saved for her, baby."

* * *

Butch's eyes flickered over to the figure who'd taken a seat next to him, before bringing them back to his scotch, not saying anything but instead giving a nod of acknowledgement. He listened to her order, finding it hard to not be intimidated by the air of confidence and power Joan held.

"Any news on Connie?" She asked, lighting a cigarette. He shook his head.

"Nah. They kicked me out yesterday and won't let me back in. They say they'll let me know when she wakes up, though."

Joan gave him a sideways glance as she exhaled. "Don't worry. Arcade's the best Doctor around these parts. He's pulled me out of worse messes than an infection before, this is a walk in the park for him."

"Yeah," Butch swigged back at his glass as the waitress placed some kind of red drink in front of Joan. "Didn't have'ta kick me out, though. Stupid jerk in the suit kicked me right out on my ass."

"Don't take it too hard. Benny might've been a bit rough... but that's how he is." Joan gestured for the waitress. "Another one for my friend, here."

"Thinks he's so cool just 'cos he's got a stupid ass suit." Butch mumbled, eliciting a laugh from Joan.

"You're not wrong about that, Butch. I trust the rest of your stay has been pleasant, though?"

Butch was silent for a moment, before turning to direct his stare at Boone, who was sitting at a table by the entrance. "Hat man over there's been doggin' me since I left the room."

Joan turned back to her drink and smiled, taking a sip. "That's Boone's way, I suppose. He's... being protective."

"I ain't gonna do jack."

"I don't think you are. But Boone can't be sure of that, can he? ...How do you know Connie, anyway? Wouldn't have put you two together."

Butch finally looked her in the eye. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, she's just... very rough around the edges in comparison."

Butch snorted. "Connie? Nah, she's just a big softie on the inside. Never woulda' pinned her as the 'shooting slavers' type of 'gal back in the Vault, ya know?"

"So you grew up together?" Joan's eyebrow perked. "In the Vault?"

"Yeah. We was a bit different, me and Connie. I was the leader of the Tunnel Snakes, baddest gang in the Vault, no one messed with us." As he said this, he smiled and his chest puffed up a little bit with pride. "Connie was the Doc's kid, goodie two shoes and all..." Butch smirked. "Still hot, though. We didn't get on at first, but then we both got stuck workin' in the salon."

"Salon, huh?" Joan asked. "So were you hairdressers?"

"No!" He snapped quickly. "_Barber._ I was a _barber._ And she was the pedicurist. Then we started talking, and Jesus Christ, let me tell you now - back then, that girl could _talk._ But she was actually pretty cool, and then I noticed she had tits." Butch was grinning from ear to ear, now. "We fooled around and stuff, you know? Then one day, shit gets real fast and she's been kicked outta the Vault. Saved my mom's life first, too, despite all the security shootin' at her and shit.

Didn't see her for too long after that, she was gone for a few months. Figured she was dead, Overseer went off his rocket and next thing you know we're all shootin' at _eachother_ down there. Then when we're on our last legs, the Vault door opens and who else should waltz in like some beautiful angel from above than Connie, shotgun in hand and all. Gets the Overseer to step down and saves us, and then this fat bitch Amata takes over and kicks her back out. I wasn't having none of that, no one told me what the hell to do."

"I'm sure they don't." Joan chuckled.

"Damn straight." Butch took another swig of his scotch and continued. "So I got my stuff, told Amata to kiss my ass and left. The Snakes were going above ground! Took me a lotta walkin' and lots more runnin', but I wound up in some dive bar in Rivet City. 'Course, I had no idea where the hell Connie was now, but they talked 'bout her lots on the radio and junk, so I pretty much just sat there and drank and listened for her on the radio. Kept trying to plan ways to find her, but then one day she found me. Been together ever since."

Joane, who thought this was adorable, despite probably being younger than them both, gave a small smile. "Sounds like you really like her, Butch."

"Well, yeah. She's my best girl. But only because like, she's smokin' hot and can shoot a Mireluck in the face from miles away and junk..."


	3. Security

_Woah. Okay. This is kind of long. Long is good, right? Right?!  
Thanks for the reviews, you beautiful tropical fish._

* * *

With outreached and open arms, Joan strode towards the slightly lost looking Wanderer. "Connie!" She sounded elated to see her, her red lipstick making her already over-pronounced lip movements even more apparent. "I was just coming to see you!" She lowered her arms once she arrived before Connie and Benny, who had followed her downstairs, resting a hand on her hip and flickering a glance to her suited-companion. "Feeling better, I suppose?"

"Yeah," Connie rolled her neck from side to side, "I gotta thank you for this. Seriously. Anyone else probably would have let me die."

"Nonsense," Joan flicked her wrist dismissively, the incredibly expensive looking bracelet on her wrist glittering in the light. She was in a good mood and all dressed up, and the chance that tonight was somehow a special occasion made Connie incredibly uncomfortable. "What kind of person of refinement would I be if I were to let the hero of the wastes die? Especially on a Friday!"

"Friday?" Connie asked, glancing between Joan and Benny. "Why Friday?"

"TGIF, Baby!" Benny exclaimed, pointing towards Connie in a shooting motion, "time to bring in the weekend swingin', say bye bye to the work week blues!"

"...Neither of you work," Connie raised an eyebrow and Joan gave a chuckle.

"Oh, Connie," Joan sighed, a smile on her face. Benny hadn't been wrong. Her smile was brilliant. "You have _so much_ to learn about how things work around here, don't you?" With that, she reached her arm around Connie's shoulder, their sizes making her realize what a twig she was in comparison, and lead her back towards the elevator. "Now, here's the deal," she began, her voice lowered. "I've had some dresses delivered to your suite, and that loverboy of yours is already at The Tops. Go get yourself dressed and meet us there, give him a bit of a surprise." She paused when the doors opened, shooting her a smile. "Boy hasn't stopped worrying about you since you went under. Trust me. He'll appreciate it."

* * *

A _few_ had been an understatement. There had to be at least 12 dresses in here, all in different colors, a few with matching hats. As she examined them one by one, she marveled at how well preserved and restored they were, the dresses ranging from sweet and pretty to slinky and sexy. Connie immediately put the slinky ones aside - after seeing the way Joan looked tonight, Connie decided her body was a wireframe and competing would just be a waste of her time.

As she narrowed down the pile of dresses to three, she re-assessed the situation. Joan was _awfully_ nice, and not just to her - no, if Joan had just been nice to her and Butch, she would have understood. There was, after all, a business deal in the works. No, Joan was just _nice._ Everything on the Strip was nice. Great, even. Outside? People got shot, kids sold Jet, landmines went off randomly. But in here? Apart from the weird guy in the red beret that seemed to trail Joan everywhere, everything was peachy, like there was nothing wrong at all.

The last time things had felt like that, Connie was trapped inside Tranquility Lane. She paused, holding a dress in her hands, and squeezed her eyes shut. Even the _thought_ of that place gave her the creeps. Nightmares, even. She'd tried to explain them to Butch, and although he tried to sympathise, he was never really able to understand.

She shook her head and decided to go with it. No matter how she was dressed, she had to go and find Butch, even if something felt off - and Joan was probably right about him appreciating the surprise. Butch never coped with stress well if she wasn't there to offset it. Actually, he didn't cope, he just drank. She was lucky she'd found him when she did after the Jefferson Memorial incident, otherwise he probably wouldn't have pulled through. His kidney or Sister would have got him. One or the other.

Once she actually chose a dress and put it on, she felt… she wasn't sure _what_ she felt. She hadn't dressed up like this since prom in the Vault, and even then, woah, she'd grown since. She'd decided to go with the soft blue dress, and while she'd thought it was going to work to flatter her legs, it also made her realise how she'd uh… blossomed in the bust. She'd thought Butch had been kidding.

Had it been that long since she'd actually tried to look… nice? She squinted into the mirror and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, not used to how it looked when brushed, how the usually stray and messy, red wires that sprung from her head flowed smoothley over her shoulders. Connie wasn't even sure how long it'd been since she'd _let it down,_ she seemed to always have it tied up, and it felt longer than she remembered it.

Something was up on the Strip, but at least Connie, for once, looked nice.

* * *

It had taken a bit of convincing on her part, but Joan had managed to coax Butch away from the bar and onto a table with her and Benny. For someone that looked like he'd walked right out of one of those pre-war highschool movies, the guy sure could put it away, and she wanted to at least get him warmed up before the Wanderer made her grand entrance.

"So," Benny suddenly asked, pretending to not notice how miserable Butch looked despite the show and how alive the dance floor in front of them was. "Your pussycat's on the up'n'up," he announced. Joan raised her eyebrows at him, her expression warning him to not give away her surprise, but Benny just shrugged her off - something he'd learned to only do when he knew for _sure_ what he was doing.

For the first time since she'd had to order him out of Connie's room, Joan saw Butch's face light up. "Really?" He asked.

"Yep. I don't know your girl too well, kiddo," Benny began, pausing for a mouthful of his drink, "but I think it'd take more than that to keep a kitten like her down."

"Oh, man," Butch leant back in his seat, hands dragging down his own face in exaserbation as he let out a long exhale. "Man!" He repeated. "God, if she'd… oh man," he laughed, sitting back up and shaking his head, a smile on his face. "I never woulda' forgave myself."

"For what?" Joan chuckled, releived to see him snap out of his depression, even if it seemed almost unnaturally quickly. "I know what it's like to worry about someone like that, but it's not your fault…"

"It's not that," he explained. "Connie… well, you know, I'm the baddest guy in the wastes, and she's the baddest _girl,_ but I wasn't always 'round t' make sure she was doin' alright, y' know?"

"What do you mean?" Joan asked.

Butch shrugged casually, his usual demeanor returning. "Well, like, 'fore I got out n' all, Connie got kicked outta' the Vault. Or, well, her _dad_ got kicked out first, the Doc. So she went lookin' for him, an' while all that was happenin', things kinda…" he paused, taking a swig of his beer. "It's a long story, but things got bad in the Vault. Real bad. People were gettin' shot, ya' know? So, like I told ya'," he nodded to Joan, "Connie shows up again and saves the day. Boom. Baddest girl in the wastes. But not long 'fore she came back, her dad died, an' like…" Butch stopped himself, his eyes looking out over the dance floor but not really focusing on anything, air escaping his lips as he shook his head. "Nah, it's stupid."

"You can't blame yourself for her father dying," Joan assured him, reaching out over the table to gently touch his arm for just a moment.

"That ain't it." He returned his attention to the table, his eyes settled on the beer in front of him. "Remember how I told ya' that me 'n Connie had history? 'Fore she got kicked out?" He waited for Joan to give a nod before he continued. "We was gonna bust out together. We planned it all out. She was gonna' be the brains an' I was gonna' be the brawn while she hacked the door open. An' if I'd just had the guts to follow her then and there… woulda' been at least been able to be there for her, ya know? She usedta' tell me how the hardest part was 'cuz she was alone when her old man died… always felt like crap 'bout that."

"So you knew her Papa, huh?" Benny asked, his interest surprising Joan a little. Butch gave a slight nod, crossing his arms and snorting.

"You bet I did. Doc _hated_ me," he quickly pointed to Benny, who's mouth was open to interject, "'an he _didn't_ know I was slippin' it to his daughter, thankyou very much. But man...when Project Purity finally got stable, we went to his grave. Turned out Connie'd only ever been once, right after he went. Said she was too scared to go back alone, and when we got there… she told him she'd fixed the water and..." Butch went silent, shaking his head, swallowing. "I seen her cry before. But this? ...I ain't never seen her cry like _that._ An' that's when I figured out why she didn't wanna go back alone, cause she was cryin' an' I was huggin her, ya know? She needed someone with her. An' I realized that I was the person topside she'd known the longest, the only one who really _knew_ her, ya know? So I promised her I ain't ever gonna let her down again."

There was a silence on the table. Benny had a small smile on his face in what Joan assumed was a show of sympathy, but Joan herself was _mortified._ She'd been keeping them apart that whole time. "Oh, Butch," she said, her voice hushed. "I am _so_ sorry… I never would have…"

"Eh, don't sweat it," he gave a shrug. "Ain't like ya' would'a kept me away if she was actually gonna _die_ or nothi-"

"Ring-a-ding-ding!" Benny suddenly exclaimed, cutting Butch off, his head perked up and looking over their guest's head. "Now _that_ is a dime piece and a _half!_"

Initially, Joan had planned to reach out and slap him, but when her own gaze followed the line of his, she realized why he'd chosen to be so rude. Connie stood by the bar, eyeing them and bashfully fidgeting with the skirt of the blue dress she'd chosen, waiting for Butch to notice her. "Butch?" Joan began, her eyes fixed on the woman standing behind him. "Behind you."

His face unsure with one eyebrow raised, Butch slowly turned in his seat, and although Joan couldn't see his expression when he realised what they were all staring at, the way he knocked over his seat getting up and shoved someone aside to reach her said enough. Joan and Benny watched as he grabbed her around the waist, embracing her tightly against him as he cradled the back of her head with his free hand, his head buried in her hair.

Benny have a chuckle, a smile in the corner of his mouth. "Not so tough now, eh?"

"Really? And you are?" Joan asked as she rolled her eyes.

"I also shot you in the head," he corrected.

Joan smirked, relaxing in her seat as she watched the two young lovers reunite. "And now I own your empire, _tough guy._"

* * *

"God, those two are _weird._"

Connie watched as Benny led a somewhat reluctant Joan onto the dance floor. He was in his element while in his own Casino, and Connie could assume he was making a show of his relationship with the woman who ran New Vegas to assert his dominance over his cronies, who seemed to always be in some kind of competition. "And the rest of his gang? God, can you_ imagine_ what they're like?"

"Eh," Butch gave a shrug. "They ain't too bad. 'Specially Benny."

"Really?" She asked. "Is _that_ how much time you spent here while I was out?"

She watched as he nodded, glancing between her and the man in the checkered suit on the floor. "Kept me company, ya' know? Well, mostly Swank."

"Swank?" She asked. "Who?"

"One of Benny's guys. I'll introduce ya' sometime, taught me howta' play card games," Butch's face suddenly lit up. "But, like _real_ card games. Not that caravan crap, like blackjack and poker!"

"Great," Connie laughed. "Now you gamble, too. I let you out of my sight for a week and this happens." She cracked a smile, prompting Butch to playfully punch her in the arm. "Hey," she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer, "has that guy been following you?" she asked, glancing behind him. Butch turned to look, but she stopped him. "No! Don't look. Um. Sunglasses. Red beret."

"Oh!" He nodded, "yeah. That guy. Nah, he ain't followin' _us._ He's following Joan. Guy's name is Boone."

"Don't you think that's weird?" Connie asked, letting go of his wrist, "that he follows her everywhere?"

"Little, yeah." Butch leaned back in his seat. "For a while he was doggin' me. Only way I got rid of him was by leavin' the 88 all together, so I wound up here."

"And I mean, he can't be security. She's her _own_ security. The _Strip_ is her security. She owns it."

Butch thought on this for a moment. "Now you mention it, Benny's pretty antsy 'bout him, too. Swank says there's a story there or somethin', but-"

A scream cut off the two as two of the doors of the venue were kicked open, a spray of bullets mowing down several of the attendees as Connie instinctively grabbed Butch and tackled him to the floor and under their table. She glanced to the dance floor, where Benny and Joan had done the same and were scrambling to cover, Benny removing a firearm from the inside of his jacket at the rest of the Chairmen scrambled.

Judging by the way these military-looking folk were busting in, maybe the Strip _wasn't_ that secure, after all.


	4. Render Unto Caesar

_**2281.**_

_**The Fort.**_

"Go ahead and laugh, baby," Benny began, swaying on his knees before her, his wrists bound in front of him. "I ain't blind to the humor in this situation."

"You left." Joan spoke bluntly, her arms crossed, shifting her weight from one leg to another while she looked down on him.

"Yeah, look, pussycat, 'bout that," he flashed her a sheepish smile, "I wasn't lying 'bout that date, but I wasn't exactly anticipating being captured, or that you'd follow me all the way here - although I'm not one to complain." His smile shifted into a genuine one. "That swingin', huh?"

Joan's expression was flat. "You had the chip. I wanted it." With that, Benny's face dropped, the smile erased from his face.

"Right," he exhaled. "That explains a lot. Maybe you ain't such a crazy broad, after all."

"Tell me about House," she demanded. "I'm at a crossroads. Is he the man I want to be working for or not?"

She remained unmoved as he studied her, turning his head to the side a little. "Wow, pussycat, you're all business, 'aint you?" He asked. "That's cool, I dig it…" he gave a solemn nod before he continued. "You want my honest opinion?" Benny asked.

"Considering the way you've treated me?" Joan replied. "I think you owe it to me."

"Mr House hides Vegas under his skirt when the bombs fall a thousand years ago, so it belongs to him? Forever?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes steadied on her. "You buy that?"

"No," she replied, reaching up to brush a lock of her black hair behind her ear. "That's why I'm asking you."

"Baby, every boss has a line to explain why he's special," he explained, the honesty in his voice unsettling her ever so slightly, "why everyone's gotta do what he says. You're just figuring that out?"

"I'm not asking if he's telling me the truth," Joan clarified, "I'm asking why I _shouldn't_ be working with him."

"Vegas gotta swing, baby, it gotta have pizzazz!" He shook his head. "Respect where it's due, but that old man's square to the _core._"

"So I shouldn't help him because he's not cool? Is that what you're suggesting?" She asked, a scoff in her voice as her hand moved to her hip. "Really? You're a grown man."

"Baby, if I was worried about you being a square, I wouldn't have invited you up for some hey-hey," he said, rolling his eyes as Joan noticed his fingertips flicking at the bounds on his wrists. "I'm suggesting he ain't what's best for the Strip. You know it, I know it, _he_ knows it."

There was silence for a moment, Joan's eyes sinking down to her boots in thought. "And what if _I_ wanted the strip?" She asked, her voice so sudden that Benny visibly flinched. However, as soon as her words had sunk in, Benny's shock turned into a smile - no - a _smirk._

"Now _that's_ more like it, pussycat!" He laughed. "_That's_ the bonkers piece of skirt that-"

"You're not answering my question," she interrupted, the Courier's tone serious, not at all in the mood for flirtation.

"First base would be whatever Mr House wants you to do," he explained. "Follow his moves, rig the game to his specifications. Then, when he ain't lookin', you knock him out and find a way to take control of those securitrons of his." Benny paused to study her again, this time with a small smile on his face, despite the bruising on his lip, once again unnerving her. "Go find Yes Man. I made it so that cat can't _help_ but be helpful."

Joan watched him in silence for a moment, trying her best to assess his demeanor. She liked to think she could get a read on people, but Benny? He threw her right off - which made her wonder if he was just as good as she was at her own game. "Caesar says I get to choose how you die."

The lit-up smile on his face dimmed, his excitement withering into disdain. "Try not to smile too hard, baby, you might break that pretty mouth." He gave a long exhale, his shoulders drooping. "Yeah, Baldie said you'd get to decide…" he looked up to her, his gaze meeting hers and taking hold. "Which way you leanin'?"

Joan's eyes settled on his, her stomach lurching - he didn't seem scared or even sad about his fate. No. He seemed accepting of it, something that was beginning to shake her. "Do you have a preference?" She asked, doing her best to hold her resolve.

"Yeah," he scoffed, "to die in my sleep at a ripe old age after a marathon session of hey-hey with 30 sex-starved broads, kinda like you." Joan's expression slipped at this, she knew it, she'd felt her eyebrow twitch. "You'll set that up?"

"I was planning on killing you in your sleep," Joan admitted, looking downward and avoiding eye contact, "originally," she added, her voice audibly wavering, despite it turning into a whisper.

"Look," he began after a moment of shared silence between them, "I ain't a harbour for illusions. I ain't expecting to get out of this shindig alive - that's why I'm tryna' hand you my scheme, baby." She watched his face soften as he said this, her chest tightening with anxiety and guilt. "It's called having a legacy."

"What if," she began, looking up from her boots, "I helped you escape."

"Sweet to offer, baby, but if you cut these ropes every Legionary in this camp's gonna come running. With machetes. Now, on the other hand," he offered, tilting his hand a little to the side, "if I had a Stealthboy and a bobby pin, I could see _myself_ out…" he shot her another smirk. "Know what I mean?"

"And if I help you escape?" She asked. "What next?"

"Baby, if you show me the door to Scramsville, that's where I'll go," he replied. "Out of your hair. Never to return." As he spoke, he never once removed his gaze from her. "I've been a real fink to you," he admitted. "Caused more than my share of grief by a hard mile. Let me go, you won't see me again."

Joan was silent. If this was anyone else, she would have made a witty retort or scoffed at them… but there was something about his face. She'd spent the better part of two months tracking him down, the man who'd shot her and left her for dead. The last person she remembered before he'd shot her. The _only_ person she remembered. And here he was, kneeling before her, looking up at her, completely accepting of his fate, not at all frightened that she was more than likely to kill him.

"How come you let me live?" He asked suddenly, snapping her out of her chain of thought.

"What?"

"You said you wanted to put me down while I was snoozin'," he recalled, "but you didn't. How come?"

Joan eyed him carefully, but this time it wasn't caution or suspicion. Her face had softened, her attempt at hiding it long gone as she searched for the words. "I don't know. I just… didn't want to." That was a lie, of course. She knew exactly why. He was the only face, the only voice, the only person she recognized. He was the last remnant of whatever her life was before she was put in a shallow grave and left for dead - and when she was nestled up against him in that suite, for the first time since she'd started searching for him, she felt peaceful. Safe. Anything but anxious and guarded like she always was. Maybe he was right, maybe that bullet _had_ scrambled her brain.

"If it's any consolation, feeling's mutual," he offered. "I didn't wanna shoot you, either. Big eyed, dime-piece brunette lookin' up at you like that? If there'd been a way out, I would've taken it. Felt wrong."

"But you still did it."

Benny gave a sigh. "Truth is, pussycat, thought it'd make it easier for you. Figured it'd be better to go out looking a man in the eye than having some dirty Khan put you down like a dog." He shook his head. "When I first saw you, I told myself I wasn't gonna hurt you. Might not have won your heart over or anything, baby, but I gave you dignity."

Once again, their eyes met, and in that moment, Joan knew what she had to do. She gave him a curt nod, her composure regained instantly. "I'll be back to decide what to do with you," she announced loudly. She turned on the heels of her boot, and left the tent, slipping the platinum chip into her bra for safe keeping.

She'd done harder things than smuggle a bobby pin and a stealthboy past a security checkpoint before.


	5. My Town

It was almost as though Connie was looking at a completely different woman as she watched Joan drive a steak knife through one of their attacker's jugular. Maybe everyone had seen this other side of Joan, the side that wasn't calm and cool and calculated - but Connie had to give herself a moment amongst the madness to take it all in,

"Benny!" Joan shouted, pushing the attacker out of the way and glancing behind her to where her companion was taking cover behind an upturned table. Without any further instruction, Benny took a pistol from beside him - if it was his or one he'd taken from someone else, Connie wasn't sure, - and slid it along the floor towards her. Joan ducked down, stopping it with her hand and leaving herself with just enough time to rise and take out another adversary who was attempting to flank Benny, her face frowning in concentration, her aim sharp as a tack.

She heard her name, a short "Connie! Your left!" Automatically, she turned, knowing the sound of urgency in Butch's voice when she heard it, narrowly avoiding a shot that had been aimed at her. Dropping to her knees in avoidance, Connie fired into the attacker's leg, causing him to drop to the floor and fire a random shot. She heard a cry, guttural and familiar, and felt her breath seize in her throat. Calling his name, she twisted herself around, launching herself towards Butch, who was doubled over, clutching his arms in pain.

"Butch!" Connie called over the gunshots and screaming, pushing him further into cover, her hands on his shoulder trying to pull his arms away to see what the damage was. This happened often, it was a part of their lives, but she never could get used to it. "Where'd it hit?!"

He removed his hand from his arm, giving a hiss at the blood which had seeped through the burst open hole in his jacket sleeve and covered his palm. "I've had worse, gir- right behind you!" Butch grabbed Connie by her shoulders now, throwing her out of the way of the man who stood over them. Before the figure could take the shot, though, he jolted suddenly, the air of his lungs escaping through his mouth as a bullet drove into him. He was the last of them, and he'd been sniped.

A long, cold, hard silence dwelled over the once vibrant and joyous jazz club, everyone looking around to make sure they were finished, to take stock of themselves. The sound of wood hitting the floor brought everyone back into the reality from the haze of adrenaline, all eyes snapping to Joan, who had let go of the chair leg she'd weaponized. "Well," she exhaled, catching on her breath as she wiped sweat from her brow - which only served to smear someone's - there was no way of telling who's - blood onto her face. She wasn't the proper, polished, near-goddess of a woman who'd been doing the twist with the head of the Chairmen only an hour before. Her dress was torn and covered in blood and dirt. Her hair that had been in an immaculate up-do was now in messy waves draped over her shoulders. But what really struck Connie was her eyes. Usually Joan had an aura of collectiveness, of elitism and refinement. Now? She radiated something else, something harder, sharper, jagged and dirty. Connie wondered if _this_ was the famed Courier she was staring at.

"Who…" Connie finally began, rubbing the side of her head that had bounced off the floor when Butch had thrown her aside. Nothing serious, but still painful. "Who was _that?_"

"Probably Fiends," Benny offered, pulling himself up from cover and returning hi weapon to the inside of his suit jacket. "Joan hushed them up, but you can't just-"

"No." Joan's voice was stern and blunt, but not in it's usual way. This time she was demanding authority, the attention of everyone in the room as she rolled a corpse over with her foot. "Not Fiends. They're too clean."

"How'd they even get _in?_" Butch asked. "I thought you said the Strip was safe or somethin'."

Joan knelt down beside one of the bodies, reaching out and pulling open the front of it's jacket, going through the pockets. "There are ways in if you want them," she explained, removing some documents from the breast pocket, "but we have enough of a reputation that few would _try_… these guys, though…" she paused, unfolding a sheet of worn, thin paper and looking over it. "These ones were prepared. Maps. Dossiers… I'd say they had a fake credit check…" she shrugged and opened a small pocket notebook. "Or they could have just passed it like normal. Wouldn't be the first time someone's sent a well-paid assassin after me."

Benny stepped towards her as she went through the body's things, hesitance in his step. He watched for a moment and then looked to the rest of his men. "Search the bodies," he ordered. "Every last thing, you pass on to me, even if it's a bobby pin - ya' dig?"

The Chairmen gave a nod, proceeding to follow instruction as Catherine directed her attention back to Butch. "Come on," she said, standing. "Let's go back to the suite and I'll patch you up."

"He's hurt?" Joan's voice snapped from behind Connie.

"Just my arm," Butch stood up to join Connie's side, giving a slight wince. "Had worse before."

Connie smiled at her companion, looking back to Joan shortly after. "Would have been worse if you hadn't had that sniper," she admitted. "Got really scared for a minute, there."

She watched Joan carefully as she rearranged her hair, sweeping it off her shoulders and behind her back. "Yes," she nodded, her regular tone seemingly making a return, "Boone has an eye for priorities."

"Boone?" Butch repeated. "You mean red ha-"

"Joan!" Benny's voice echoed through the hall, a small, black booklet in his hand. "You might wanna see this."

"Is it important?" she asked. Benny gave a solemn nod.

"Real important, Pussycat," he announced, holding the booklet up for her and the rest to see. "One of 'em had some Commonwealth paperwork, you dig?"

Joan slowly turned on her heels, her eyebrow raised, eyes thinned at this discovery. "What _kind_ of paperwork?"

"I 'dunno," he shrugged and approached her, the booklet held out towards her in offering. "You ever heard of 'The Institute?'"

"Institute…" Joan's eyes thinned as she examined the booklet carefully, before taking it. "Another faction, maybe? House loyalists?"

"That'd make sense," Benny agreed. "Seeing how I've never heard of those cats before now."

Clearing her throat, Connie nervously raised her hand a little. "I uh…" she paused, seizing a little when all the already tense gazes in the room snapped to her. "I've heard of it." She watched as Joan shot a glance to Benny, continuing. "I used to know a guy."

"Who?" Joan's tone was almost ferocious, making it plainly obvious that her game face was back on.

"D-Desmond Lockheart," Connie replied, eyes darting from figure to figure. "This was in Point Lookout, though," she clarified, "and even then, he went back to the Commonwealth…"

"Obviously not for long," Joan snapped her fingers, gesturing to Swank. "Swank, I want scouts looking for this guy and any 'Institute' activity. Get Cass on it. I want him here alive." She glanced back to Connie, nodding. "What'd this guy look like?"

"Woah, woah, woah!" raising her hands, Connie shook her head. "Hold on a minute, Desmond just _mentioned_ the Institute. That doesn't mean anything."

"I've put too much effort into the Strip to risk it. We can either have scouts on it or we can take a nice, long trip up to the Commonwealth." Joan looked Connie up and down as the Wanderer stepped back cautiously. "This isn't DC, Wanderer. It's _my_ town, and it's _my_ call. I'm sorry if your friend is involved, but if he's sent people in here to touch _my_ property, then he's done it to himself."

Unsure if Joan had just referred to the Chairmen as her 'property,' Connie gave a silent nod and stepped back to Butch. "You're right. I'm gonna take Butch to Lucky 88 and fix his arm up. Anyone else hurt?"

She looked around the room as Butch slung his non-injured arm around her shoulder, noticing Swank raise his hand. "Yeah, doll," he began, lifting the side of his jacket outwards to reveal a bloody-shirt. "One of those cats pulled a fast one on me. Could use a patch up."

"Alright," Connie tilted her head to the door as her and Butch turned, "follow me."

As the three of them left The Tops Casino, Connie's eyes settled on a figure wearing a red beret by the door.

Maybe _Swank_ could tell her about him.


	6. Gossip

"So," Connie began, readying the supplies in her doctor's bag as Swank lifted his shirt. Knife wound, small laceration, nothing too serious, but it looked painful nonetheless. "What's the deal with Boone?"

He glanced to her as he rolled the hem up to make it easier for him to keep the fabric from his wound, leaning against the back of the seat, his discarded jacket at his feet. "What about him, doll-face?"

She leaned in, taking a cleaning-swab and wiping at the wound, easing on the force she was using as he gave an audible hiss. "Has he _always_ watched her like a hawk?"

"Long as I've known her," he gave a shrug, watching her work. "Got pretty intense after Benny came back, though."

Connie raised an eyebrow. "Came back?" She asked. "He went somewhere?"

"Yeah, after Joan showed up the first time." Connie glanced upward at him as she began to suture the wound. "I remember it real good, too," he laughed, shooting her a smirk, "'cause you don't forget seeing a pair of charlies like that walk in."

"So you've known her as long as Benny?"

"Nah," he shook his head. "They got history. Not sure what it is, but it's there. Anyway, her and the boss go up to his room to do the good thing on the bad leg, and next morning there's a note on my desk from Benny telling me I'm in charge 'til he gets back. Didn't see him for months after that. Figured he was dead."

"Where was he?" She asked.

"Ran off to the Legion fort, something about Mr House, I'm not sure, it's above what I'm allowed to know. But I _do_ know that she got him outta' that jam. After that? No idea where he went, but it wasn't here. Then, one day, not long after she takes over, she sends every cat in the place that ain't already stuck down to go look for him. 'Drag him back kicking and screaming if you have to,' she said. Put a bounty on him, two weeks later one of the King's boys brings him in. Turns out he'd been hiding just outside of the Commonwealth."

Connie snipped the fibre she'd been using to stitch the wound and raised an eyebrow. "Why'd she bring him back?"

"Needed a right hand man, and no one knows New Vegas like Benny. Or, well, that's _her_ story, anyway," Swank gave a smirk as he rolled his shirt back down. "I think she was more sweet on him than she let on. Those cats have been joined at the hip ever since. 'Specially after the 'incident.'"

"Incident?" She asked, pausing. "Wait, roll your shirt back up, I need to put gauze over it."

Obliging, Swank continued. "Bout a month after Benny got back, they go on one of their 'date nights,' which is where she takes Benny to the Lucky 88 and we don't see the two of them for another two days, if you catch my drift. Only, this time, right, they're only gone for one night, and the next day she's got a busted up, fat lip and Benny's got a shiner the size of an 8-ball." He paused as she patted down the tape that held the gauze to his skin. "Well, that's where Boone came in. Tommy said he took one look at her and went to find Benny, even though she basically begged him not to. Joan told him she gave as good as he did and it was a fair fight, but that cat musta' been madder than a frisky Brahman."

"Did she stop him?"

"Nah," he shook his head, reaching down for his jacket once she pulled away, finished with his wound. "Joan's the toughest broad this side of the Mojave, but she knows better than to get in the way of that cat when he's mad. He beat the living _shit_ outta' Benny. I mean, I heard that he woulda' killed him if Joan hadn't started crying over it, but that's just a rumour. No one saw it."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"There wasn't anyone in that suite 'cept for Boone, Joan and Benny. Joan ordered everyone out. All anyone else had to go on was that Benny came outta' there with more than a black eye."

Connie raised an eyebrow as she closed her doctor's bag. "Surprised Boone did that," she admitted. "Seems more like a 'shoot from afar' sort of guy."

"That's what I thought, but you know, a dame's involved." As he shrugged himself into his jacket, Swank chuckled to himself. "Wouldn't be surprised if it turned out they were… you know. Doing the horizontal mambo at some point."

"Err," Connie gave a grimace. "He's not… well, you know, there's Benny and there's… he seems… well, she seems to have a type."

"You've been out there in the wastes, doll," he shrugged, rolling his neck from side to side. "Things got a way of happening out there. Those two basically fought a war together." He paused. "What would I know, though? That pussycat swindled me out of 200 caps just by batting those eyelashes at me when I first saw her."

Laughing, Connie opened her door for him, smiling at Butch, who'd been waiting outside for them to finish. "Really?"

"Yeah. She's a slick one like that."

"Or," Connie suggested, "maybe you're just a pushover."

"Yeah, well, don't go tellin' anyone I told you any of that," he asked, making his way to the elevator and pushing the button, the doors opening with a 'ping', "Joan ain't the kind of dame that takes too well to gossip."

"Scout's honour. Take care of yourself," Connie instructed as she watched the doors close, shaking hear head and crossing her arms.

Butch rose from where he was sitting, fidgeting with the bandage around his arm as he glanced between the door and Connie. "What was that about?" He asked. Connie was silent for a moment, staring at the doors of the elevator in thought before she eventually spoke.

"I think it's about time I got to know that sniper."


End file.
